


A Greenwood Tree

by HolyCatsAndRabbits



Series: Dannye's Good Omens Human AUs [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Robin Hood (Traditional), Robin Hood - All Media Types
Genre: Anathema as Little John, Aziraphale as Marian, But it was so fun, Crowley as Robin Hood, F/F, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Crowley (Good Omens), Gabriel as the queen, Happy Ending, Hastur is his opponent, I did WAY too much research on Robin Hood, Marian in disguise, Michael and Uriel as noble ladies, Newton as Much, Robin Hood-Good Omens AU, Romance, Sandalphon as the Sheriff of Nottingham, Sherwood Forest, almost forgot to say that but you all know I don't write sad stuff, because Robin is an idiot, the archery contest!, there might also possibly be way too many notes in this fic sorry, women loving women fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyCatsAndRabbits/pseuds/HolyCatsAndRabbits
Summary: This is a piece commissioned under the Fandom Cares BLM auctions run on Tumblr in June 2020, for a Good Omens/Robin Hood women-loving-women crossover fic. Thank you to ExMarks for bidding! I had a lot of fun with this.So this request came at a strangely perfect time: just as I was planning some original wlw Robin Hood fiction myself! I actually did extensive research on the character a few years ago (which is why this fic is so long— it was really fun to pick and choose what might go with Good Omens). Obviously, you don’t have to do research in order to write Robin Hood fics, I just did it because I wanted to.But please enjoy a romp through Sherwood with a plot taken partly from Robin Hood sources dating back as far as the Middle Ages! And look, I've dumped the whole fic at once. I'm not making you all wait this time. <3
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Little John/Much the Miller's Son, Robin Hood/Marian
Series: Dannye's Good Omens Human AUs [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2110836
Comments: 60
Kudos: 90
Collections: Fandom Cares, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ExMarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExMarks/gifts).



> CW: There is talk of forest fire in this fic (but no actual fire). I plotted this out before the fire season started on the West Coast of the US. But now there are horrific events going on out there, so I wanted to warn readers in case the plot hits too close to home for anyone. I hope you are all safe!!
> 
> And now lotsa notes. 
> 
> On the literary history of Robin Hood: Robin Hood is a tradition stemming back to at least the 14th century. He can be found in ballads, poetry, plays, books, and more recently TV and movies. A good deal of written Robin Hood works have passed into the public domain. New Robin Hood works are always based on the rich tradition that has gone before them, and mine is no different. If I ever directly quoted a line or borrowed a plot element from a public domain work, it is cited in the fic. I also listed some of the available writings in the end notes so that you can enjoy them too! 
> 
> If you are into the scholarly/research aspect of things, I highly recommend the work of Stephen Knight, who has written extensively on the literary tradition of Robin Hood. I read quite a few of his works, and it was all fascinating! Find him [here](https://d.lib.rochester.edu/camelot/creator/stephen-knight) and [here](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stephen_Thomas_Knight)
> 
> And do stay tuned for some non-Good Omens, Celtic fairy-tale influenced Robin Hood from me, whenever I manage to get to that.
> 
> Last bit: ["Lincoln Green"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln_green) refers to a green cloth made in the town of Lincoln, England, in the middle ages. It is a traditional part of Robin Hood stories. And “greenwood” means a forest with all of its leaves green (so in spring/summer)

_One man calleth me kind, another calleth me cruel; this one calleth me good honest fellow, and that one, vile thief. Truly, the world hath as many eyes to look upon a man withal as there are spots on a toad; so, with what pair of eyes thou regardest me lieth entirely with thine own self. My name is Robin Hood._

— Howard Pyle, ["The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood," 1883](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/10148/10148-h/10148-h.htm)

Lady Antonia Crowley had not gotten up that morning with a definite plan to rob priests. But when a couple of wealthy churchmen came riding down a path through Sherwood Forest, Antonia did recognize the opportunity.

“Good morning!” she called to them, in a very friendly manner. It was, in fact, a good morning. Perhaps it wasn’t so in other parts of the world, but in Sherwood Forest, the sky was clear above the far-reaching trees and the air smelled sweetly of green and growing things. The rising sun illuminated clear drops of dew everywhere, making it look as if the faeries might have washed the woods overnight and left it all out to dry. 

The priests didn’t seem to be feeling very friendly themselves. They regarded Antonia with a bit of sneering, but also a bit of fear. This was Sherwood, after all, and Antonia did not in any way resemble the average person’s idea of how a Lady of Court ought to dress. In fact, at the moment, she didn’t resemble a lady in the slightest, being dressed in a man’s breeches and shirt, brown boots, and her red hair tucked into a pointed cap. Men often dressed with the intent to show their loyalty to king or kingdom, and if Antonia’s clothes were to be judged by such standard, she would clearly be marking her realm as that of Sherwood Forest. For here she would blend in among the trees as well as any other woodland creature, being clothed in Lincoln green.

(It was fairly well known that Robin Hood himself dressed in Lincoln green.)

“What brings you to Sherwood?” Antonia asked.

The older of the two priests, who had white hair and deep frown lines, glared down at her. “We are just passing through.” He did not look pleased to see that Antonia had strolled onto the road and put a gentle hand through their horses’ bridles, keeping them from moving away.

“And where might you be off to, so soon after such a meager breakfast?” Antonia inquired. 

The younger priest, who had a large mouth and very small eyes, making him resemble some sort of fish, gave Antonia a look of surprise. “How do you know about our breakfast?”

Antonia nodded toward the older priest. “Well, if my nose does not deceive, he’s had no food at all— nothing but a jug of wine.” The older priest sputtered at her. Antonia ignored him, leaning in closer to the younger priest. “Not you, though, you don’t reek of alcohol. But judging by your face, I imagine you breakfasted on only a peeled lemon!”

Naturally, the younger took offense at this as well, and Antonia laughed heartily. “Oh, I jest. Forgive me. It’s just that breakfast is much on my mind, as I have not had mine yet. Actually— on that subject— perhaps your exalted selves might see fit to cross my hand with a piece of silver? I’m afraid I will not be able to break my fast today without a little assistance.”

The younger priest cast fearful eyes on the older, whose gaze flicked back and forth from Antonia’s face to the hand with which she held their horses’ bridles. Both types of look Antonia recognized: the truth of this encounter in Sherwood was beginning to dawn on them.

“We were robbed,” the older priest said hastily. “Just as we came in. Haven’t a coin left for ourselves.”

The younger priest put in: “We would otherwise have helped you, of course!”

Antonia let her mouth fall open in shock. “Robbed! In Sherwood!” She looked around with an expression of fear. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. They say he’s everywhere, you know. Everywhere and nowhere, above, below, beside you— you can’t escape him here in the forest. Oh, I hope you gave in easily. He didn’t harm you, did he?”

Both priests shook their heads, their eyes wide.

“Oh, that’s very good,” Antonia breathed. “The people we see come down this path sometimes—” She shook her head. “Horrible, the look in their eyes after meeting Robin Hood.” She gave them a pitying glance. “And now you have nothing left but the rich clothes on your backs and these fine horses with new saddles. You certainly must have been carrying quite a fortune to be able to lavish so much money on yourselves and your mounts. Oh, surely God laments at such a fate as has befallen you!”

Were Antonia dressed as a woman now, she would bite her lip and wring her hands. As a man, she let her supposed worry be expressed proactively. “We’ll pray!” she exclaimed. “Come, quickly.”

The priests did not, in fact, come quickly, and so Antonia simply hauled the younger one off of his horse and deposited him in the grass. When one lived in a forest, one learned the ins and outs of choosing a piece of ground on which to sit or lie down. Antonia made sure the priest came down on his knees on a patch of scraggly grass full of acorns— not a place she’d have sat for ten silver pieces.

The older priest looked like he was trying to decide if he should stay or flee and leave his companion behind. Whatever his choice would have been, he was too late in making it, and Antonia took pleasure in dropping his aged knees in a patch of mud. The large bag of coins secured under his tunic gave a metallic _thump_ against the ground, but Antonia pretended not to hear it.

“We’ll pray,” Antonia said, resolutely. “God is always with us here in Sherwood, have no fear. So many times in my hour of need, God has come through to aid me. I am certain He will do the same for you.”

The younger priest shifted uncomfortably on his knees. “God— in Sherwood?” he asked, and then seemed to instantly regret asking.

“God is more in Sherwood than even the most exalted church,” Antonia said reverently, kneeling in a patch of soft, dry grass.

“Blasphemy!” exclaimed the older priest.

“It is no such thing!” Antonia said, quietly, turning her eyes skyward. “In church— you may look up from your knees and see a ceiling crafted by human hands. But Sherwood is the church that God has made of His own inspiration. Towns and cities are crafted by men out of trees cut down and butchered. Here the very building blocks of our world still live and grow! 

“Oh, man cannot craft a rule so perfect as that by which Our Lord governs Sherwood. In towns people take money from the poor, lock up innocent persons, and hoard food, and this is protected by man’s law. But here in the forest, a wolf doesn’t hunt in order to wipe out the population of deer; he preys only until he himself is satisfied, and leaves the other deer to flourish, so that they might always provide food for other hungry souls. Those who can share must share, so that those who need are cared for, and that is the natural law. Here is Sherwood, we are far from the stifling town, and thus we may find a living God instead of one made of plaster and kept out of the rain.

“Do not fear, my friends. God _is_ with us in Sherwood, not as a statue in a church, but as a living force mightier than all men together. Those who do wrong here will not escape His wrath. And those who do right— such as yourselves, who were ready to hand me a silver coin had you but had one to your name— will surely be rewarded. So pray with me now, that God look favorably on us and reward His poor servants with enough money that we may eat.”

They prayed an hour, during which time Antonia’s stomach grumbled pitifully, and she managed to get a few devoted tears to flow down her face. The horses wandered a little, helping themselves to the sweet grass and seeming happy to have the break in work.

At last, Antonia rose from her knees and made a show of patting her pockets. “Won’t you do the same?” she asked her new friends, and watched as they also searched their own clothes. All three of them came up empty.

Antonia painted her face in a sorrowful sort of determination. “No,” she whispered. “I have faith in Him. Let me search you, sirs—” And of course, as she did so, two large bags of money were found beneath the priest’s robes.

Antonia gave a laugh which was entirely genuine. “Oh!” she cried. “Oh, I know you said that Robin Hood stole from you, but I see you now for what you are!” At this, the priests looked, if possible, even more horrified than they had when the money was discovered. 

But Antonia embraced them both in turn. “Oh, my friends— I know you well enough now to discern the truth: good, honest men that you are, such loyal servants of God that He rewards you with this bounty— you _gave_ Robin your funds, did you not, for the poor and hungry of the surrounding towns? Saving for yourselves only the property on your backs and horses.”

Antonia dug a hand into one of the bags and pulled out two coins. “And now I must leave you what you may need beyond that, and please don’t try to hand them back. I know you wish these to go to the poor as well, but I must insist you take enough for yourselves.”

Antonia whistled, and the horses came trotting up. “Go on, mount and be on your way quickly,” she urged. “You must be off to do the Lord’s work. I’ll go to Nottingham to share out what God has granted us today in the knowledge that we would use it to His will.”

Antonia assisted the priests in climbing back onto their mounts. The younger one looked mostly confused, his little eyes blinking. The older was purple with anger, shaking with it.

“Godspeed, my friends!” Antonia called as they trotted off down the path, the horses probably glad that they were many pounds lighter now than they had been.

oOo

“Here’s a good morning’s work!” Antonia announced as she strolled into camp. She let the two bags of money fall onto the table in front of the assorted band, where many hands eagerly examined it.

It looked like most of the band were in camp this morning, and in their activity they resembled a flock of chattering birds with feathers of Lincoln green. Will Scarlet, Alan-a-dale, George-a-Green, Albert Whitehand, and of course, Much and Little John. (There were code names for all, including Robin, adopted in the hopes of sparing their families persecution due to their membership in Robin’s band.)

Antonia removed her cap and let her long red braid swing free. Despite her claims to the priests, breakfast was on offer in the camp. The aroma of spiced porridge and roasted fish gave Antonia a measure of comfort, seeing that the little family she’d built was provided for.

Little John— her real name was Anathema— was tall and slender, with a drape of dark hair falling past her shoulders. She wore on her hip the smallest weapon in camp: a dagger; and on her hands a pair of brown half-gloves for use with the largest weapon in camp: a staff. Now she had her hands at rest on her hips as she looked over the pile of money. “That’s quite a lot to have stolen, Robin.”

“It is, at that!” Antonia agreed. “And it _was_ stolen, by a pair of predatory priests and reclaimed from their custody by myself, as it is my sworn duty to work long hours and hard, replacing the purloined property of the public.”

Little John raised an eyebrow. Just the one, as if perhaps Antonia’s boasting (and ample alliteration) wasn’t worth moving the both of them. “Priests, was it?” she asked. “I suppose you gave them a proper sermon.”

Antonia scoffed. “Is it my fault the rich always lie about the money they carry? I’m to blame, they try to deceive?”

Little John rolled her eyes, but the rest of the band gathered round to hear the tale. And if Antonia embellished it a little in the re-telling— well, hers was a silver tongue, and if she could employ it in gaining silver, then she should rightly be able to boast of it.

Little John (no one could recall how they’d come up with Anathema’s code name other than that everyone had been drunk) was the sole member of the band to ever give Antonia a hard time. And it was, Antonia had to admit, a good thing to have a lieutenant who was not afraid to speak her mind. Steady where Antonia could be rash, practical while Antonia was given to flights of fancy, Little John was the backbone of the group, the embodiment of the purpose they shared: an unwavering demand for justice.

Antonia was the one with the imagination. The one who soared through the world with an endless energy, the one who inspired others to fall in with her lofty plans. Those flights of fancy to which Antonia was prone were why Anathema had given Antonia the name of a bird— _Robin._ The _Hood_ part came from Antonia’s penchant for disguising herself with men’s clothing. It made for a good joke on those it fooled: the clue to the deception was contained in the name.

As Antonia’s story ended, Much called out, “Four hundred pounds and change!” He’d remained at the table, and Antonia could see that he’d arranged the money into three separate piles. Much— his real name was Newt— was called _Much_ in truth because there didn’t seem to be _much_ inside of his head besides an uncanny ability with numbers and the desire to worship the ground on which Little John walked. But there was enough praise in the nickname that Much wore it proudly.

Much was small in stature, with dark hair and a skinny build. He was accurate with arrows and steadfast with a sword, but his true talents lay elsewhere. “I’ve worked it out,” he said. “It matches the recent haul from the villagers of Nottingham, Derby, and Doncaster.”

They all looked at him in surprise. “All the way to Doncaster?” Antonia asked.

Much blinked at them. “Yes,” he said simply. He looked down at the table, where he’d arranged the money into three careful piles. “You can see, matches exactly with those three towns. No other configurations worked.”

Much was never misled by numbers. “All right,” Antonia said. “We’ll arrange for someone to go up to Doncaster tomorrow.” She frowned at Much’s sudden expression of excitement. “Not you, Much, your horse is so old she holds up traffic, and not in a way that favors us.”

Rather than laugh at the jest, the other members of the band raised loud protestations. Antonia waved her hand to quiet them. “Yes, we’re all terribly fond of Black Bess, but she’s earned a quiet retirement, not a hard ride to Doncaster.”

Little John put a hand on Much’s shoulder. “You can take my horse,” she offered. It was in vain, of course. Everyone in the band knew how to ride horses, except Much. He knew how to ride horse. One singular horse.

“It’s all right,” Much said with a shrug. “Bess and I will stay here, keep Sherwood in order.”

Little John dropped a kiss to the top of Much’s head. “Well done, as always, my love.”

There were times when Antonia thought that Much might be the most important member of the group. To him, the world often seemed to sort itself into distinct pieces: goals were either attainable or impossible, food or money would serve or would not, daylight would last long enough to carry out a plan, or it would fail them. It helped Antonia, helped them all at times, to look at a situation the way Much did: as a series of decisions meant to be made one at a time. Much’s reputation was such that if he gave his endorsement to a plan, the confidence of the rest of the group was stronger.

Much also possessed a heart that was kind, giving, and utterly devoted. It had been love at first sight for Much: he’d come upon Little John and had quickly fallen for the handsome youth. Little John had not been far behind with her own heart. Much leaving his life behind to follow Little John into Sherwood had perhaps been the only decision Much had ever made that was based entirely on emotion. But it was obvious that Much had been as right in that as he had with all his careful calculations. Here Much was needed, and he was loved.

As they finished breakfast, another member of the band ran into the camp. He was a weaver by trade, and they called him Nat. “Robin, there’s a knight wandering the southwestern path with another man who looks sickly. They’ve been going up and down the same route all morning. The knight’s not wearing armor, but he’s got on a helmet that hides his face.”

“They seek you,” Little John said to Robin. “Or seek to be found by you.”

Antonia nodded. “Well, if so, we’d be remiss if we didn’t give them a welcome to our camp. But be sure you blindfold them and take them through the oak stand a few times to disorient them. Albert, go with him to be sure there’s no one else following. Will, have the weapons ready in case our guests prove to be of ill intent.”

oOo

Camp was quiet when the strangers were led in, but it wasn’t an empty silence. This camp had always seemed to Antonia to be the very living heart of Sherwood. So although the band was making no noise at the moment, no doubt the visitors could _feel_ that they were in the presence of something large and powerful.

The knight wore well-made clothing in light colors with a scabbard at his hip. Nat had removed the sword that had hung there and set it on the ground out of reach. No armor protected the knight other than a polished silver helmet with only a slit for sight. Nat had tied a blindfold there, and when he removed it, the knight did not follow it with his helmet. Antonia understood that. Robin Hood’s camp was a place that both existed and did not, and his followers were both nowhere and everywhere at once. Such toeing along the edges of cliffs put people in mind of their own safety.

The other man did not look so much sick as underfed, and he was not dressed so finely. Simple linen clothed him, and when he moved, Antonia could see abrasions on his wrists where there had recently been chains. As they removed the man’s blindfold, Antonia nodded to Alan-a-dale, who fetched the man a bowl of fish and porridge.

The knight was regarding them all in turn. The women in camp had taken on their male disguises, so it was Robin and his men who faced him. The knight’s posture did not belie any nervousness, however, and he did not seem to try to search out where Nat had put his sword.

“Good morning, sir” Antonia said. “Pray tell what brings you to our camp?”

The knight’s voice was soft, partially muffled by his helmet. “I am afraid I come to beg a kindness from you,” he said. “This man is Adam. He has long been a tenant on my land, and was thrown in prison for failure to pay a debt, although by my records he did not owe one. But even after I had paid it, he was not released from that hell of a jail.”

Little John made a snorting noise. “Aye, the demons who run that place are not given to letting go of things once they have them.”

“No,” the knight said, with a shake of his head. Somehow, the sunlight coming through the tree cover was unerringly catching the silver of his helmet, making it almost seem to glow. “That’s why I smuggled him out of prison this morning.”

“You did what?” Antonia exclaimed. “Fought off those demons of guards by yourself?”

The knight laughed. “No, no. Paid them off, of course. And in return they showed me this bit of wall that’s loosely mortared—”

Antonia glanced at Will Scarlet, who had made the most recent escape from that prison. “I’ll thank you not to spread that around,” Antonia said sharply to the knight.

“That would gain me nothing,” the knight assured her. “Especially as I want to ask a favor.” He gestured to Adam. “He can’t show his face on my estate again. But he’s a good man, a hard worker, and can read and write. If you could find a place for him here with you, I would be extremely grateful. If he remains nearby, he might be able to secretly visit his family. But if not, perhaps you could facilitate an escape to someplace far off, where they won’t look? I can finance either option, of course.”

“With what?” Antonia asked.

Adam put down his spoon and opened the pouch that hung at his hip. Inside was a necklace that shone with jewels. The band began to move forward to see it better, but the knight quickly stepped in between them and Adam. “It stays with him until I have your word that you will help him,” he said.

Antonia looked to Little John, who nodded. “I give you my word as Robin of Sherwood,” Antonia said. “We will keep him safe.”

The knight let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you. I admit I had started wondering if I had done the right thing.”

Antonia smirked. “I think you’ll find that _the right thing_ can mean different things to different people.” The knight did not seem particularly reassured by this.

Adam spoke up for the first time. “You are Robin Hood, really?”

Antonia nodded. “Some call me so.”

Adam’s eyes widened in a look Antonia had come to love. “Robin Hood who can shoot an arrow full five hundred yards?"

Beside him, Little John groaned. “Oh, no, please don’t start,” she begged.

Adam was not listening. “Robin Hood who can extinguish a candle with an arrow and leave the candle standing true?”

“The very same,” Antonia replied, with a grin.

Little John rolled her eyes to the heavens, but the rest of the group was moved instead to encouragement. 

“Wouldn’t do to welcome a man to the band without a proper introduction,” Will said. “For all he knows, you’re not Robin Hood. This could be someone else’s camp in Sherwood filled with men in Lincoln green.”

“Why, you speak the truth!” Antonia exclaimed. “I believe a demonstration is in order.”

The sudden bustle was interrupted by the knight. “Five hundred yards?” he inquired, skepticism clear in his tone. “I count myself an archer, sir, and I’ve yet to see anyone come close to that.”

For some reason, at that moment, Antonia found that she desperately wanted to see the knight’s face. She waved a hand. “Well, thereabouts, wasn’t it? Nearly five hundred.”

“Four hundred thirty-five yards it was,” Much spoke up. “With the wind at your back.”

Antonia cleared her throat. “Yes, thank you, Much.” She nodded at the knight. “I suppose you can do better?”

The knight laughed. “Certainly not. But I do have some skill.”

Antonia picked up a bow and offered it to the knight. “Would you care to demonstrate, sir? It’s a rare man who thinks to challenge Robin Hood.”

“Is it?” the knight asked, readily taking the weapon. “Well, then, I shall be glad to make you work for your reputation for once.”

Antonia grinned. “What will you choose as contest?”

“Well, as I can’t hope to match you on distance, perhaps a moving target?”

Antonia was momentarily surprised into silence. The rest of the band, naturally, began to applaud.

“Of course,” said the knight, “you have me at a bit of a disadvantage, sir.” He tapped his helmet with a finger.

While a couple of the group hung a small target from a branch, Little John handed Antonia a helmet of her own, with only a slit for eyesight. With the knight’s back turned, Antonia exchanged her cap for the helmet, making sure her braided hair was still tucked out of sight.

“Courtesy dictates the first chance go to our guest,” Antonia announced, when she was ready. 

The knight, who was examining an arrow that Nat had given him, gave a nod. The target was circular, with a bull’s eye on one side. The knight watched as George set it swinging, and he was quiet a moment, turning his helmeted head slightly to the right. And then he raised the bow and let loose an arrow. It flew true through the air and struck the bulls-eye dead center. The band broke into delighted applause.

Now, it wasn’t that Antonia had a _problem,_ exactly, with contests of archery. It was more of a...quirk. She merely possessed a competitive spirit, that was all, and her greatest strength lay in the flight of arrows. It wasn’t her fault, in any case— the prowess of Robin Hood the archer was a thing of legend, and so, when the opportunity arose, naturally Antonia was honor-bound to demonstrate the truth of it.

Even if that wasn’t how Little John would phrase it.

And of course, it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with any desire on Antonia’s part to impress this knight.

Nat set the target swinging again, and Antonia pulled two arrows from the quiver and stuck one loosely in her belt. The knight seemed to be watching this with interest, although it was difficult to tell, with them both being in helmets. Antonia didn’t mind the helmet, in truth. It helped narrow her focus onto the target. She fitted the first arrow to the bow and let it fly.

It missed the target entirely, passing above it. But it flew so close to the rope that held it that the drag of air sent the target spinning drunkenly as well as swinging. Antonia had the second arrow away in an instant, and this one hit the bulls-eye just as it spun round to face them.

The knight, as well he should have been, was impressed, and clapped as loud as the rest of the band. 

“Well,” he exclaimed, “it is good to know that Adam and I have been brought into the presence of Robin Hood after all.”

Antonia gave him a bow. Little John rolled her eyes.

While the knight gave his former tenant a farewell embrace, Antonia exchanged her helmet for her green cap again.

Much, as unofficial camp secretary, asked Adam about what weapons and tools he carried, but at this, the knight sighed. “Oh, I’m afraid we haven’t brought any. Forgive me, that’s my oversight.” He turned around a bit, looking for something. “All we have is my sword, wherever it’s got to. Why don’t you take that, Adam?”

Adam made a surprised protest. “That sword is an heirloom, my La— my Lord.”

Antonia caught the misspoken word just as she approached the knight’s sword where it lay on the ground. Both the sound and the sight made her catch her breath.

The sword was a sliver of silver on the green grass, and it dealt a metaphorical blow to Antonia as surely as if it had been a physical one. This _was_ an heirloom sword. A dragon wound its way around the carved hilt, with fearsome claws grasping at the blade. But lest it intimidate too much, there was a sparkle of mischief in its eyes, and a halo resting over its head. There was no mistaking it. It was the crest of Fitzwalter. Except the Fitzwalter family had no son of this age.

_“Marian,”_ Antonia breathed softly.

Many years ago, in what seemed now a far-distant world, two little girls had grown up together in neighboring chateaux, one a red-head, and the other a blonde angel named Marian. _Angelica_ was her middle name, and Antonia had thought it fitting, with the family crest bearing the haloed beast. She’d always called her _angel._

This was the knight who stood before them now. Lady Marian Angelica Fitzwalter, no less in disguise than Antonia was. Marian was mere yards away.

And yet she was so far from Antonia as to be unreachable. Because there was no red-headed Lady Antonia Crowley, not anymore.

The knight— Marian— insisted that Adam take her sword, in that strangely calm way that noble folk had of decreeing things: _Take this, don’t thank me, and be sure the sun goes down on you safely in Sherwood._ And then Marian took her leave, enduring the blindfold once more as Nat and Albert led her away. 

Antonia nearly went with them, nearly removed her cap, nearly spoke her real name, both of their names. But Antonia was older now, and wise in the way no one wishes to be: having learned the harsh lessons of failure. Antonia wasn’t sure what her honesty would buy her. A renewed friendship with a childhood friend? But one who seemed to barely remember Antonia, having failed to recognize her unmasked face. Perhaps it would be nothing but an awkward few reminisces anyway.

And yet— and yet Marian had come here, to Sherwood. She’d seen a man’s life in danger and had schemed to save him. It certainly had not been without risk to Marian as a noble lady. If discovered, she might well have lost her own title and freedom in a fall from grace, landing in hell herself. And then she’d paid for the rescue with what had to have been her own jewels, and she’d given away a sword that bore her family crest, caring more for a tenant’s well-being than for the haughty trappings of nobility.

Antonia would realize later— and not very much later— that this was where she had begun to fall in love with her childhood friend, grown so bold, brave, and beautiful of heart.

That night at dinner, Antonia stood in the golden glow of Sherwood, watching the way the dying light seemed to shine brightest and warmest even as darkness overtook it. “I know,” she said, in a rather loud voice, “that we talked about the archery contest in Nottingham.”

“Do you mean the one that is specifically a trap to catch Robin Hood?” Much inquired, sounding as if he were honestly asking for clarification, which he probably was.

Little John folded her arms over her chest. “The one we agreed that you absolutely were not going to? The one you only want to go to now because that knight will probably be there?”

Antonia grinned. “Yes, in fact. That one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY look more notes I bet you aren’t surprised. 
> 
> The priest robbing scene comes from the ballad [“Robin Hood’s Golden Prize,”](https://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/robin-hoods-golden-prize) recorded in the year 1656, although the story may have preceded Robin Hood himself. Also, the archery contest has been part of Robin Hood tradition since at least the 1470’s! 
> 
> Robin Hood being a noble fallen from grace is a later addition to the legend: in the early ballads, he is a yeoman (a middle class farmer or landholder). I used the noble version to mirror Crowley’s fall.
> 
> Dick Turpin note: Obviously, the Good Omens Dick Turpin reference could not be avoided here. Turpin was a much later outlaw, and unlike Robin Hood, he was a real person, although the legends about him far outpace the truth. In reality, he was not a nice guy (although, to be fair, in some early stories, Robin Hood is not really a nice guy either— he kills people and does not give any stolen money to the poor). In the romanticized mythos, Turpin’s valiant horse was named Black Bess, and so I picked the character of Much for Newt because in “The Adventures of Robin Hood” movie (1938), Much is the paramour of Maid Marian’s lady-in-waiting, whose name happens to be Bess. 
> 
> The idea of Sherwood as a kingdom with its own laws and religious practice comes from the early ballads, where Robin’s camp mirrors the set-up and customs of England’s royalty and church. For more, see Stephen Knight in [“Robin Hood: A Complete Study of the English Outlaw”](https://www.amazon.com/Robin-Hood-Complete-English-Outlaw/dp/063119486X) and other writings.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day was not a kind one for Lady Marian Angelica Fitzwalter. For one, her lovely grey velvet shoes, which were new, pinched awfully. Marian had perhaps made a rash decision over them: her eyes certainly enjoyed them, but unfortunately, she’d not considered whether her feet might feel so appreciative.

For another thing, she was on a social call to a friend— well, an acquaintance, Lady Michael Celeste. Also visiting Michael’s home was Lady Uriel of Elysium. And Marian would have liked to have found herself almost anywhere else than in a room with these two.

Marian shifted a little, and tried to pay attention to what Lady Uriel and Lady Michael were discussing, not that she was the slightest bit interested. She’d had high hopes for the visit, perhaps naively expecting the nobility of England to be more interesting than the nobility of France. She’d been disappointed to find that the women here were much the same: lovely in a way that was partly innate and partly assumed, any inner beauty brought out not with genuine smiles, but with the addition of jewels, fine clothing, and overly-batted eyelashes. These women did not educate themselves on the real world, but only on the world they wished to make, and expected that world to be handed to them as their due for having done the terribly difficult work of being born into a noble family.

Marian only really succeeded in listening to whatever they were prattling on about when Uriel said, “And it had to have been so humiliating for you, Marian.”

Marian cast about for a recent moment in which she’d felt humiliated— the archery contest in the forest hardly counted, as being bested by Robin Hood himself at archery was hardly unexpected, and really, she had acquitted herself rather well with her shooting, she’d thought— but of course, it would not do to mention that in present company.

Uriel seemed to notice Marian looking unsure. “I mean that man of yours, the tenant,” she said snipply. “The one who escaped from the jail, probably with the aid Robin Hood himself!”

“Well,” said Marian, unwisely and with a bit of pride, “I don’t believe that the only one who can break people out of jail is Robin Hood.”

Fortunately, Uriel and Michael seemed to think she was joking. They laughed in a rather nasal way that Marian did not admire and went back to whatever conversation was entertaining them.

It should be noted that Marian was not in the habit of putting her grey-velvet clad foot in her mouth, as she just had. But at the moment, it happened that the place in Marian’s head where her sense of self-preservation ought to have made its home was now filled (as was all the  _ rest _ of her head) with thoughts of a terribly good-looking man in Lincoln green.

Marian’s mind had retraced her journey into Sherwood Forest a thousand times. The dusty road, the fear that her plan would fall apart, that Robin’s band wouldn’t notice them. The fear that they  _ would  _ notice them, and would react badly. But instead, there had been the friendly hailing by the band of thieves, the blindfolded journey that as far as Marian could tell took them in circles that ended in the far northwest of the woods. And then she’d met the man himself.

Robin was taller than Marian, but only a little. His hair was largely hidden by that cap, but Marian had seen strands of scarlet clinging to his neck when he turned. His eyes must have been hazel, but somehow in the half-shaded light of Sherwood they had shone like gold pieces. Marian had almost wondered if they might not be enchanted, if a bit of magic led Robin unerringly to the money he stole. Money he always gave away.

Marian had returned to England several months ago to find her home, Fitzwalter Hall, in a state of near despair. Her uncle had been living there, but he’d passed away, and Marian had come from France to take up residence again. She’d never liked her uncle, and neither had anyone else, it seemed. He’d been so hard on their tenants that they might have died of starvation and disease if someone had not stepped in to feed them, to fix unsound houses overnight, just as if by magic, and to provide tax money and clothing and even dowries.

Marian had heard of Robin Hood, even in France, but she had not realized how much Robin had been doing for her own tenants until an infant had fallen sick. Marian had been ready to set out at first light for a doctor, only to find that a doctor had been fetched in the night and had already provided medicine, for which he’d been fairly paid.

So when her tenant Adam had been arrested, Marian had known there was only one solution. If her tenant had been cast down by the law, then he needed to be as far out of reach of it as possible.

Michael and Uriel startled Marian out of her reminiscing by standing suddenly. Marian stood too, and then realized that the cause was the reception of another visitor. This one was a person of rather short stature, dressed in black, and bearing an expression that was no lighter.

“Sheriff!” Michael exclaimed. “What a pleasant surprise. This is my Lady Marian Fitzwalter. Marian, my dear friend Sheriff Sandalphon.”

Marian startled a bit at that— she’d not thought the nobility made a practice of befriending town officials. But she immediately discovered that they had a common purpose.

“We were just speaking of Robin Hood,” Michael announced, bearing a look on her face that allowed none of her natural beauty to show.

“Oh, my lady Fitzwalter,” said Sandalphon, as he sank into a cushioned chair, “I fear that coming home to your estates has caused you to be embroiled in our distasteful local troubles.”

Perhaps it was Michael’s painful smile, or the way the sheriff Sandalphon angled his body to encroach on Marian’s space, but Marian suddenly found herself in a mindset that took her far away from these horrid people, to the side of a man she’d met once and now admired more than anyone she’d ever met before.

“My goodness,” Marian said, with an air of wide-eyed innocence, “is Robin Hood such a threat, then?”

This brought great laughter from the other three in the room.

“He sows anarchy,” Sandalphon remarked darkly. “A company of thieves living in the wood is a danger to law and order.”

Marian allowed herself to look confused. “I was told— well, we heard in France that some see this outlaw as a benefactor. Surely he is more than a wild man in the forest if he provides aid to those in need?”

“Anyone who accepts aid from outlaws is himself an outlaw,” the sheriff proclaimed. 

“Oh, of course,” Marian agreed. “It is better to starve as an honest man than to eat at the table of the unworthy.”

The sheriff broke into a grin. “Ah, I see we understand each other perfectly, my lady!”

“It’s just,” Marian said politely, “I wonder what makes a man unworthy. Is it solely the law that may proclaim him so? If so, then it seems the law is of little use to those who are honest, if it leaves them to starve.”

At this point, Marian’s shoe began to pinch her foot with a bit more pressure, as if warning her that she was straying onto dubious territory. Marian calmly leaned forward. “That’s what they say in France,” she said, in a bit of a conspiratorial whisper. “I never knew quite what to make of the way they tie themselves in knots over there. England at least sees things more simply.”

Again, this brought laughter, of the relieved kind this time. Marian was not terribly impressed by any of the intellects she saw demonstrated before her.

“Well, in any case,” Michael assured them, “Robin Hood won’t be at it much longer. Not after the contest Saturday.”

“What contest?” Marian asked, rather too quickly and too sharply.

“Archery,” Uriel said with a smile, perhaps misinterpreting Marian’s interest in the story. “Robin Hood can’t resist a chance to show off his skill with a bow, everyone knows that.”

“It’s the plot concocted by our dear Sheriff,” Michael said fondly, and Sandalphon gave a little nod of acknowledgement.

“I heard they were going to put a target five hundred yards off!” Uriel exclaimed.

Marian only  _ just  _ refrained from mentioning that the distance might be sixty-five yards too far, depending on the wind, of course. Fortunately, she was too horrified to speak. 

They wanted Robin dead, Marian realized, not jailed but dead, this man of cunning and kindness, with the beautiful golden eyes— well. She ought to be truthful.  _ All _ of Robin was beautiful, from the swing of his slender hips to the graceful way he fitted arrow to bow with long, capable fingers, to the almost delicate features of his face. He was stunning, even through a slit in a helmet, and he was  _ familiar  _ in a way that Marian did not quite understand, almost as if she’d known him somewhere before.

Did he know about this archery contest? Of course, he had to know. Robin Hood knew everything there was to know about Sherwood and Nottingham. He had ears and eyes everywhere. 

And yet— what if he didn’t? What if he had no idea? What if— what if Marian knew but failed to warn him?

Conversation passed to the subject of taxes, and Marian excused herself quickly as she was able. It took several more disavowals of banditry and expressions of disgust about those who’d been stupid enough to have been born poor, but she made it back to Fitzwalter Hall with daylight left. Which left only the change of clothes and the walk to Sherwood. The walk would be enjoyable, Marian knew. The clothes... 

Honestly, that had been the most annoying part of the whole escapade. Men’s clothes were  _ deplorable.  _ Boring and colorless, with far too little fabric to work with. That ridiculous knight’s helmet had more style than a plain pair of men’s breeches. Sadly, Marian once more needed both.

oOo

Marian had always loved Sherwood Forest. Its outermost ring of trees stood not far from Fitzwalter Hall, and Marian could hear the raucous birdsong from her bedroom window, bright and colorful and happy. As a child, Marian had discovered a secret path from her home into the woods, hidden from view by hill and scrub. She had never imagined it would be quite so useful to her as an adult.

Sherwood welcomed her now with cool, misty shade and a breeze that smelled like growth. Marian longed to remove the helmet and tip her head back to see the tree tops far above, to take in the whole sweep of forest surrounding her. But seeing the terrible fate of Adam at the hands of the sheriff had made Marian cautious. She’d be of no use to her tenants if she were found consorting— fraternizing— well, whatever one might wish to call it— with Robin Hood. And besides, it was a man’s world. Marian knew she would never have been taken seriously in Sherwood if she’d attempted to negotiate her tenant’s future as a woman.

The helmet also made it hard to hear things, but after she’d gone a ways down the road, Marian picked up a crashing sound to her left. Something large was coming through the brush, and not with the silent steps of one of Robin’s band. Marian turned to face the noise and to her shock, saw a stag thundering through the undergrowth toward the road, its eyes wild and movements frantic. 

Marian had scarcely recognized the threat when she heard a call— “Down, angel!” and she obeyed, dropping to the ground. She was aware of someone’s body covering hers, of the hooves of the deer falling to either side of them, and then the stag was gone, on into the woods again.

It was at this point that Marian realized what her savior had said. She looked up and saw hazel-gold eyes and a cap of green, and a sheepish smile on a beautiful mouth. Such a familiar mouth, and suddenly she could place it. “Antonia?” Marian breathed. 

Robin pulled off his—  _ her _ cap, and a long scarlet braid tumbled over her shoulder. Marian gave a pleased sigh, and did the same with her helmet. She tossed it onto the road beside them, and didn’t bother attempting to tame her blond curls, which of course, did not normally submit to taming even if they hadn’t been crammed into a helmet.

“Well,” she said, looking up into her friend’s face with elation.

“Well,” Antonia echoed. “The fault was mine, my lady. The stag— I frightened him. Very careless of me.”

“Your actions were not careless with me,” Marian said. “Nor anonymous, it seems. How long have you known?”

“Only since I recognized your crest on the sword. The angelic dragon. I don’t think it’s ever suited you more than now.” Antonia was looking at her with a little bit of wonder in her eyes and Marian thought her expression was likely quite the same. 

“And what of you?” Marian asked. “I heard only that you sold your lands to the queen and moved on.” She’d been a little sad to hear it, to be honest. Antonia was the one friendship Marian thought she might renew upon moving back.

Antonia laughed, and it was a brash thing, full of pain. “Sold my lands, yes, for the price of a stay in jail. It happened a few years after you were sent to France for education. I was brave enough to question the Queen about her taxes, and my courage bought me a miserable fate. My estate— my heaven— was stolen from me, and I was cast into that hell of a jail.”

Marian was filled with a cold horror. “No— oh no. Oh, my dear.”

Antonia waved a hand to indicate their beautiful surroundings. “Here in Sherwood I have found a stretch of earth between heaven and hell. And with it a new purpose.”

Marian wanted to reach out and take Antonia’s hands, but she wasn’t sure if that would be allowed, if they were still such close friends. “Oh, you’ve done such wonders here!” she exclaimed. “You’ve saved lives! People have food and shelter and good health because of you. Antonia— Robin— I should have known you at once. You’ve always thought of others before yourself.”

Antonia made a scoffing noise and abruptly jumped to her feet. “What brings you to Sherwood today, my lady?” she inquired.

“Oh! Yes,” Marian said, getting up. “They’ve laid a trap for you in Nottingham. I wasn’t sure if you knew. There’s going to be an archery contest—” Marian broke off at the sight of Antonia’s grin. “You did know.”

Antonia shrugged her shoulder a little. “Well, I might not know all the details. Just the general idea. Perhaps— we could discuss it? Back at camp?”

Marian tried not to smile too broadly at the invitation. “I’d love to, my dear.” She picked up her helmet from the ground— it was a much nicer thing to carry than wear— and stepped off the road toward the northwest.

Antonia gave her a shocked look. “Did they not walk you in circles on the way to camp?”

“Oh, yes,” Marian assured her. “Four circles on the way there and three and a half on the way back.”

“Three and—” Antonia narrowed her golden eyes. “Did they not  _ blindfold  _ you?”

Marian laughed and gave Antonia a teasing look. “Well, I admit I don’t know all the details of the path. Just the general idea. So maybe you could show me?”

For some reason Antonia blushed as red as her hair, and instead of answering, she set off for the northwest. Marian grinned as she hurried to keep pace.

“This meeting is fortuitous, as I had hoped to see you again,” Antonia confided, as they took leaps across a small stream.

Marian smiled warmly at her. “My dear, you could have called at Fitzwalter Hall anytime. Surely you had no doubt that I would welcome you in either of your costumes?”

Now Antonia looked wary, as if Marian had offered her something and she was not sure if she could really take it. “I’ll never be back at court, angel. Never be one of them— one of  _ you _ again.”

Marian sighed. “Court is hardly what it pretends to be. No one there is really what they seem.”

Antonia’s mouth twitched, and Marian could see she was trying not to laugh. “Well,” Marian acknowledged, “perhaps that also describes the inhabitants of Sherwood, as well as myself. But my point is that if you rely on a person’s actions to speak of their character, your character is far preferable to that of Lady Michael Celeste.”

Antonia did not look quite as pleased by this as Marian had hoped. “That’s not much of a challenge,” she grumbled.

They walked on through the dense woods with little difficulty. It seemed Antonia knew Sherwood as a friend. She knew where to step to avoid hazards, where a light pass under a branch would reveal an open place through which it was easy to walk. She knew what lay beneath the surface of the place, how it grew and hid and lived and slept, and why. Marian hoped fervently that she might be accorded the opportunity to learn to once more know Antonia in such a way.

It was a pleasant walk, and Marian enjoyed the way her shoes sometimes bounced over springy ground, or made twigs crack beneath them. Antonia didn’t make nearly so much noise, but Marian wasn’t worried about her own blunders. After all, for companion she had Robin Hood himself, Lord of Sherwood. And he was no cold, cruel ruler, but one who had built strong houses on Marian’s estate without either permission or payment, straying from his domain to care for members of a society whose leaders had thrown him out.

Marian looked down at her shoes for a moment (not the grey ones now, of course), watching how Antonia’s boots walked in tandem with hers. It would not be difficult, Marian realized all at once, to learn her way capably through this forest and still utterly lose her heart here.

As they neared the camp, Marian was surprised to see one of Robin’s band appear seemingly from nowhere. He was a sentry, she realized. He and Antonia chatted a moment and then Antonia ushered Marian around a few more twists and turns and they stepped suddenly into a very large camp that seemed to have been conjured from nothing.

Chatter fell quiet as the band reacted with a bit of surprise to Marian’s presence. “Well,” Marian said to them warmly, “this place is really far nicer when one is not wearing a helmet.”

There was some laughter and beside Marian, Antonia sighed softly, a slightly exasperated sound. “But now you’ve got leaves in your hair, angel.”

Marian quickly put a hand to her head to keep Antonia from removing them. Their hands brushed, and Marian shivered. “Perhaps I like leaves in my hair,” she scolded. “Men’s clothes are so boring. I have to have some color.” There were a couple of other women in camp that Marian could see, a few men, and some people that she couldn’t quite pin down. But there was some agreement to Marian’s sentiment, and she gave Antonia a smug smile.

Antonia’s empty hand fluttered back down to her side and she bore an amused expression. “As you like. Everyone, may I present  _ Sir  _ Marian Fitzwalter, our guest of last week, now suitably named though unsuitably attired, to have her tell it. Of course, Marian,” she added, “One can hardly walk through the woods in a gown made for court.”

“Or in such shoes,” Marian conceded. 

The rest of the band introduced themselves, and part way through that, Adam came into camp. Marian clutched his hands in her own and reassured herself as to his condition. Physically, he was hearty and healthy. Marian had expected no less from Robin Hood. But there was a melancholy to Adam that Marian had sadly anticipated.

Adam volunteered to give Marian a tour of camp. “I’ve seen my parents,” he said as they walked. “They are well. But I find I miss Eve almost more than I can bear. We were to be married, you know.” He gave Marian a hesitant look. “She wants to join me here. Quit your estate. But of course, it would leave you with an empty place—”

Marian shook her head quickly. “My dear, if Eve has the chance to steer her own life, she should be free to claim it. So often we are not given choices in life, so I believe we must seize the opportunity should it come.” Adam broke out into a relieved smile. “Have you spoken with Robin about it?” Marian asked.

Adam laughed. “Robin would take in the whole town if he could. Besides,” he said proudly, “Eve would be worth a lot here. She’s the best fisherwoman in the area. It’s uncanny, really, she can always find the right spot on the right day. We passed more than one winter under your uncle on her dried fish. One year she even sold it for the sheriff’s table— not that he knew where it really came from— and Eve wouldn’t keep a cent of it.” Adam broke into a cocky grin. “Gave it all to Robin, she did. We heard later it went to buy feed for horses near Derby. There was an early frost out there, they lost some of the feed crops, and the Lord of the estate refused to buy more.”

“Well,” Marian said, aware that she was probably feeling just as proud of Antonia then as Adam was of Eve, “it seems that Eve would fit in very well here.”

“My lady,” Adam said, “if you’ll forgive the familiarity— it seems to me that you would, too.”

When Marian returned from her tour, Antonia was sitting on a table beside one of the fires, which, Marian now noticed, had been formed in some way that gave off very little smoke. 

“We were just about to begin preparing dinner, my lady,” Antonia said. “Would you care to join us?”

“I’d be very glad to,” Marian answered.

“Excellent.” Antonia grinned. “But I must explain that we’re a little different here in Sherwood than in town. By our custom, the guest at the table is the one who pays.”

Marian laughed, and then realized that Antonia was serious, her expression one of both amusement and challenge, as if she were a sly fox from a children’s story. It was a look that suited her, Marian found, and she very much desired to go on seeing it.

So Marian let her mouth fall open. “I beg your pardon?”

Antonia shrugged, looking quite pleased to be involved in an argument. “”Tis the law of the forest. I don’t make the rules.”

“You very much make the rules, my dear,” Marian pointed out.

“Not this one,” Antonia protested. “It’s the very law of nature. Wolves and rabbits make it a practice, I’m told.”

“Do they now?” Marian crossed her arms. “And if I refuse?”

Antonia grinned and gestured to her band, all of whom had come to view the exchange, most of them looking very entertained. “I’m afraid you’re outnumbered.”

“Well, that hardly seems fair,” Marian objected. “Is the great Robin Hood not willing to enter into personal combat? To give a prisoner a fair chance?”

Antonia lost her amused expression all at once. “You’re no prisoner, Marian.”

“Oh, but surely I am,” Marian said teasingly. “After all, if I were to leave here without a guide I’d likely be lost in the woods for days before I found the road again.”

Antonia’s mouth twitched, and she said dryly, “Somehow I doubt that.”

“Well, give me the opportunity to fight and I shan’t have to flee,” Marian said. “And not archery. Something where your poor guest stands a chance.”

Antonia spread her hands wide. “Name your weapon, my lady.”

Marian grinned. “Is my sword still here?”

It was, and Marian was glad to feel the weight of it in her hand again. She noticed Antonia watching her carefully, marking that at the very least, Marian knew how to hold a sword. Marian gave her a smile. “It wasn’t all parties and books in France.”

“For me either,” Antonia warned.

It started out simply. A clang of a sword here or there, quick steps in expected directions. The biggest problem was that Marian was so caught up watching the grace with which Antonia moved that for the first few moments, she almost forgot to raise a defense against her. It was as if Antonia seemed to have added yet a third personage to herself: somewhere between Lady Antonia and Robin Hood lay a bodily incarnation of Temptation itself, lithe and lean, strong and beautiful.

Marian shook off her reverie in time to block a few thrusts and answer them. After several moments of this sort of cautious fighting, Antonia stopped, and a rather impressed smile played over her mouth. “All right, then,” she said, and suddenly the fight was entirely different.

The contest became a bright and fanciful thing, with swords clanging like bells, where the breaths came in and out of Marian’s chest so forcefully as to make her aware of how truly alive she was at that moment in Robin Hood’s camp. Her feet danced along the grass beneath her, and carried her up and over obstacles: tree roots, chairs, even tables. And everywhere Antonia was close beside her, a smile on her mouth.

Though the fight was passionate, the final blow was struck very gently. Marian’s blade touched Antonia’s throat, tilted down from where Marian stood upon the dining table. Antonia laughed so hard that Marian had to move the sword away so that Antonia didn’t accidentally nick herself. Antonia tossed her own sword onto the ground and offered Marian a hand climbing off of the table.

The band clapped delightedly, but all Marian could really notice was that Antonia didn’t immediately let go of her hand. Marian could feel the thundering of Antonia’s pulse in her wrist, and wondered if her own heartbeat might somehow alter itself to pulse in tandem with that of Robin Hood.

The promised dinner was roast duck and turkey, with vegetables grown in Sherwood, and bread purchased from town. Antonia took a great deal of teasing over her loss to Marian, but she weathered it with grace. “I lose to Little John at the staff too,” she reminded her band. “But of course, Robin Hood is the best in England with the bow.”

Marian didn’t notice the band had fallen silent at hearing this, so she went ahead with her teasing. “Is that so? I’d like to see that definitively proven.”

“All in good time,” Antonia said lightly.

Marian caught onto it then, the grim looks the rest of the band were giving their leader. Marian gasped. “Robin, you can’t go to the contest in town! I came here to warn you away from it!”

“It makes little sense,” spoke up a young man whom Marian had learned was called  _ Much.  _ “Your aim in going to the contest was to see more of Lady Marian, and you’ve done that now.”

The rest of the band broke out in raucous laughter, and Antonia blushed a little. She flicked her eyes to Marian, found her staring, and looked away again.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Antonia claimed. “The people believe in Robin Hood, and they need to see that he is not afraid. That he possesses more courage and intelligence than his foes.”

“If you were more intelligent, you wouldn't go to the contest!” Little John exclaimed angrily. 

“We’ll not talk of it anymore,” Antonia said, and the band fell into a disgruntled quiet. 

When the meal was over, darkness was falling, and Marian knew she really would need help finding the road again. To her delight and trepidation Antonia offered to serve as guide.

They walked quietly for a few minutes, and then Antonia said, “Nat the weaver— you just met him. He has a twin brother in the jail in Derby. We’ve not been able to free him. The winner of the archery contest gains a boon from the Queen, and we need it for that. The band is working on other methods, but this one seems obvious to me.”

Marian looked up at Antonia, as the edge of moonlight chased the last trace of sunlight out of the sky. “You could be killed.”

“But what kind of leader am I who shirks a battle?”

Marian clasped Antonia’s hand safely in hers, more confident now in their friendship. Antonia looked at their joined hands and a light flush came over her features again.

“Robin Hood is not really outside the law,” Marian said. “He can still suffer its punishments.”

“The world has never dealt justly with me,” Antonia responded. “I was born into power I didn’t earn, and then given a penalty I didn’t deserve. But I make my own choices in Sherwood. I follow my own God here.”

“And will He protect you?”

A bit of a cocky smile crept onto Antonia’s face. “I was rather hoping  _ you _ would, my lady.”

Marian made a scoffing noise. “I shall not support your risky schemes.”

Antonia had that sly-fox grin again. “Oh, angel. You will. I know it. Just as surely as I know you’ll still pay for dinner. You too are apt to think of others before yourself.”

Marian sighed. “I’ve given the coins to Much already. You can’t be too careful in Sherwood, you know. They say Robin Hood is a thief.”

Antonia burst into laughter. “Marian, I’ve missed you so.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

The moment drew out between them, sharp and silver. Their hands were still clasped together and it wouldn’t have taken much for Antonia to lean down or for Marian to reach up until their lips met. Marian felt like she could have kissed Antonia sweetly throughout the whole night and still be reluctant to pull away at daybreak. This Robin seemed so fragile, like a bird with delicate wings, and Marian wanted to hold her close and keep her safe. 

But a part of Marian seemed to understand that Antonia was stronger than she looked, that having been formed here, in Sherwood, that Robin Hood was nothing less than a force of life, something that could never quite be smothered out.

“Be careful,” Marian urged quietly.

“I will be, angel.”

“Then I’ll help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a tradition, especially in the early ballads, of Robin adding people to his band if they can defeat him in battle (with any weapon except the bow), so he does get his outlaw butt kicked regularly and weathers it well. In many well-known recent versions of the Robin Hood story, you can see Robin lose a staff fight to Little John before asking him to join up. Marian is not in the early ballads, but many later creators have had him lose a fight to her as well.
> 
> Robin asking “visitors” to the camp to pay for dinner is quite common in the ballads.
> 
> The idea of Robin being outside the law but still subject to its punishments is from an analysis by Stephen Knight in ["Robin Hood in Greenwood Stood: Alterity and Context in the English Outlaw Tradition”](https://www.amazon.com/Robin-Hood-Greenwood-Stood-Socio-Cultural/dp/2503540546)
> 
> And lastly, Marian going into Sherwood in disguise is very a common plot element in Robin Hood tradition. The “Down, angel!” set-up and line come from the 1898 book [“Robin Hood” by J Walker McSpadden](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/832/832-h/832-h.htm), although I combined the stag attack with the moment where Robin Hood lets on that he knows it’s Marian in disguise. It’s a very romantic, melodramatic scene in McSpadden, so you really should see the original: 
> 
> _With a savage snort of rage, the beast rushed at this new and inviting target—rushed so swiftly and from so short a distance that she could not defend herself. She sprang to one side as it charged down upon her, but a side blow from its antlers stretched her upon the ground. The stag stopped, turned, and lowered its head preparing to gore her to death._
> 
> _Already its cruel horns were coming straight for her, while she, white of face and bewildered by the sudden attack, was struggling to rise and draw her sword. A moment more and the end would come. But the sharp voice of Robin and already spoken._
> 
> _“Down, Marian!” he cried, and the girl instinctively obeyed, just as the shaft from Robin’s bow went whizzing close above her head and struck with terrific force full in the center of the stag’s forehead._
> 
> _The beast stumbled in its charge and fell dead, across the body of the fainting maid._
> 
> _Robin was quickly by her side, and dragged the beast from off the girl._
> 
> _Picking her up in his strong arms, he bore her swiftly to the side of one of the many brooks which watered the vale._
> 
> _He dashed cool water upon her face, roughly almost, in his agony of fear that the she was already dead, and he could have shed tears of joy to see those poor, closed eyelids tremble. He redoubled his efforts; and presently she gave a little gasp._


	3. Chapter 3

The morning of the archery contest was bright and balmy, with a broad blue sky and a bit of breeze. The marketplace was full of buyers and sellers, and eager spectators. The spectators all dressed alike, but only some were true in this: the rest were Robin’s band and royal guards, in disguise. The market square was also liberally laced with town guards in uniform.

Antonia was loitering next to a stall selling pots and pans, and she and the seller were keeping up an idle conversation. “I wager that Robin Hood won’t show himself today!” the seller proclaimed. “Far too many guards.”

“Oh, they say that he is a bold fellow,” Antonia countered.

The shopkeeper spent a moment banging on a pot to draw everyone’s attention to his wares, and dozens of eyes fell on them. No one spared a second glance for the anonymous contestant idly tapping his bow on his boot, for the simple reason that he was wearing not a speck of Lincoln Green. He also sported a hint of stubble on his chin, drawn in that morning by Little John with a piece of burnt cork.

“Ha!” said the seller to Antonia, “Robin Hood may be bold enough out behind stumps in the forest, but the open marketplace is another matter.”

Antonia smiled. “You are probably right. He’d have to be terribly brave to venture here today.”

The seller laughed. “Brave and stupid.”

Antonia let that comment fly away like the worthless nonsense it was.

At mid-morning, the town guards began carrying targets toward a large open field outside of town, and most of the people joined them, forming a procession. Even some of the sellers came along, pushing their carts amidst their customers. When they reached their destination, Antonia took up a place with the other contestants inside a small tent.

Across the field, dignitaries had been given chairs beneath another, grander tent of red cloth and gold piping. Sheriff Sandalphon could be seen there, and an emissary from Queen Gabrielle’s court. Antonia marked the nobility and leadership in the tent with a careful eye, as she’d done everyone up until this point, until her gaze found itself quite stuck on a beautiful woman with golden curls.

Antonia felt someone poke her in the ribs with great force. Little John, dressed like a townswoman, had stepped into the contestants area. “Your attention would serve you better if you saved it for the archery target and not Lady Marian,” she grumbled.

“Twas just for a moment,” Antonia protested. “Besides, how much concentration do I need to best these other archers?” She waved a broad hand at them. “I wager some of them have never seen a bow before this morning.”

That caught a bit of attention in the archers’ tent. The men’s chatter grew quiet and they all turned to face Antonia, who gave them a cocky grin, ignoring Little John’s sigh of exasperation.

One of the archers had a contemptuous look on his face. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Will Scathlocke,” Antonia responded.

One of the archers made a dismissive noise. “Never heard of you.”

The first archer smiled coldly. “My name’s Hastur of Carfax, and I’m the best archer in the land. Even if you were Robin Hood himself, you couldn’t beat me.”

Antonia laughed. “Oh, Robin Hood. He’s nothing but hot air. Complete exaggeration. Why, I heard he could only shoot an arrow four hundred yards!”

There was a little murmuring at this, but the claim was perhaps too outlandish to rile them, a misstep on Antonia’s part. Little John, bless her heart, came to her aid. “Nobody can shoot an arrow four hundred yards,” she exclaimed with a snort.

Antonia gave her a quick, grateful wink, and let the rest of the tent see an astonished expression. “What, really? Am I to believe that none of you have ever shot such a trifling distance?” When no one answered, she waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, well, the winds here are unpredictable, of course. But the outlaw’s other boasts are similarly unimpressive. Shooting bulls-eyes blindfolded, making music with bottles hung from branches? These are deeds for children!”

Hastur made a scoffing noise. “You talk very prettily, my good fellow. But we shall see what transpires on the field.”

“I look forward to it,” Antonia assured him.

Little John gave Antonia an indulgent smile, but she whispered, “I hope you’ve had your fun, _Will Scathlocke,_ because all eyes are on you now.”

“They’d have found me in the next while regardless,” Antonia pointed out pridefully.

Little John took her place back with the spectators and the contest began. Antonia acquitted herself well through the first few rounds. The targets were at a fairly close distance and she was careful to strike just high enough to proceed to the next rounds, but not to dazzle everyone with one bulls-eye after another. She had a good sense for the dramatic, after all.

Hastur of Carfax also shot well, to Antonia’s delight. She looked forward to besting him. But all through the contest, Antonia found her eyes drawn from the field to the dignitaries’ bright red tent. Surely the very apple in the Garden of Eden could hardly have gleamed more bewitchingly beneath the broad blue sky.

It was the first time Antonia had seen Marian dressed in women’s clothing since they were much younger, and Antonia could see now why it pleased her friend so. Marian had an eye for fashion. The white gown she wore was elegant in itself, but seemed even more so as Marian moved, becoming a work of art painted across the background of the day, silky and graceful as it flowed with every movement Marian made. Marian had looked a bit stocky in men’s clothing, but now Antonia could see that stockiness expressed as womanly curves. Marian looked no smaller, and Antonia was desperately glad for it, although perhaps, as Little John had said, Marian’s figure— quite literally— was drawing too much of Antonia’s attention.

What was worse, of course, was that Marian had clearly picked out Robin Hood from the other competitors, and sometimes when Antonia cast her gaze toward the tent, Marian would meet it with her own, steadfast and warm.

By the fifth round, the contest was down to six archers: “Will Scathelock,” Hastur of Carfax, and four others, one of whom was a town guard. Antonia was a little more careful with her arrows now, and ensured that she reached the next round with Hastur and the guard as her only competition.

As the arrows from the previous volley were pried from the target, Hastur approached. “You shoot well, sir, but not as well as you boast. I’ve hit more bulls-eyes than you today, and I’ll wager you can’t do better in the last rounds, with the targets being moved farther away.”

Now, if Antonia were being completely candid, she would have to say that Hastur volunteering to pay Antonia to best him was only part of the reason she had bragged so loudly earlier and had made so few perfect shots so far. The truth was that her spirit was so competitive, and her speech so curtailed by being in town and in disguise, that boasting had been an indulgence she’d allowed herself. But the money was nice, as well.

“What would you like to wager?” Antonia inquired smoothly. 

“Two silver coins.”

Antonia raised her eyebrows. “Are you so confident, sir?”

“Are you not? Have you forsworn your boasting?”

“Oh, no. Never,” Antonia said with a grin. “You think Robin Hood can’t beat you, but let’s see if I can.” 

They shook on the bet as they watched the targets being moved, and then the three archers took up their spots. Arrows were loosed one by one, and struck in a neat circle just outside of the bulls-eye. The town guard’s arrow was farthest, and he was thus eliminated. He accepted third place with a bow to the crowd, who applauded him heartily.

The last two contestants would be awarded three arrows apiece. The final volley should have begun with Antonia, but she graciously waved her arm to indicate that Hastur should go first. He took the opportunity immediately, with a pitying look at his competitor, and shot three arrows directly into the bulls-eye.

The crowd roared their approval. Antonia calmly inspected the feathering on her arrows. There was, as it happened, a very small space left just in the very center of the target. One might, if one were particularly skilled, fit two arrows into that spot.

One might, if one were Robin Hood, intend to put three arrows there.

“Well done, Hastur!” Antonia said grandly. “You are undoubtedly the second-greatest archer in all of England.” There was laughter at this, and Antonia waved a hand to placate the crowd. “Now, of course,” she said teasingly, “we must not forget Robin Hood, who no doubt was intended to be the guest of honor today. But I wager he took one look at Hastur here and myself and quite fled the field! But we shall award him third place.”

Hastur was laughing now too. He leaned in a little closer and spoke softly. “If you can beat those shots, I may wonder if Robin Hood is not so scarce today.”

“Whichever name I go by,” Antonia replied smugly, “you know you have only to claim I am Robin Hood to regain your honor. There’s no shame losing to him.” Antonia lifted her bow, and her gaze flicked inexorably toward the vision of white in the red tent before falling back to the target one last time. One more glimpse of Marian. Simply for luck, of course.

“Now,” she said, loudly, fitting arrow to bow, “Hastur, if one of your shots had landed here—” she loosed her first arrow— “and another there—” away went the second— “and your last there—” shooting her third— “perhaps we here would have declared you the best bowman in all England!”

The cheering was deafening. Antonia had shot three arrows, but now they appeared as one, the first two stuck into the tiny space between Hastur’s arrows, and Antonia’s third in between even those, taking half of each into itself, and thus giving the impression of Antonia’s last volley being one immense arrow.

Antonia wasn’t looking at it. Her gaze turned triumphantly to the red tent. But Marian was gone. 

The emissary from Queen Gabrielle, rose to her feet. As the crowd quieted, she called to Antonia. “You have won the contest, Will Scathelock. Your shooting could rival the devil himself. What claim you for your boon?”

If Antonia had not yet given herself away as Robin Hood, the request would do it. Little John caught Antonia’s eye in the crowd, and nodded. All was ready then. 

“I demand the release of the prisoner Robert of Cloudsdale in the jail in Derby!” Antonia cried, “As he’s committed no crime except to oppose the murderous tax rate there!” There was great cheering at this as well, and Antonia had expected it. “I charge the crowd here to keep you to your promise!” Antonia shouted, and then she ducked back into the competitors’ tent, amid shouts of _Robin Hood!_ from civilian and soldier alike.

Some of the band were there in the tent, and they enfolded Antonia amongst themselves in the confusion and began ripping outer items of clothing off her. And then suddenly there among the crowd was Hastur.

“I’ve never seen such shooting,” he said. “I must know: could you really have done that blindfolded?”

Antonia had to laugh. “Absolutely not,” she said, leaning close, “but if you don’t mind, that shall remain our secret.”

“Praise the heavens,” Hastur said, with a grin, and then he grabbed Antonia’s short cloak from Much, replacing it with two silver coins. Hastur dashed out of the tent in the opposite direction, waving the garment and shouting, “This way! There he goes! Robin Hood! I’ve got his cloak, let us get the rest of him!”

“That’s a surprise,” remarked Much. He thrust a bundle into Antonia’s arms and she ducked into a dark corner behind the rest of the band, working as quickly as she could. A moment later, she rose and stepped leisurely out of the tent.

Will Scathelock was gone. So was Robin Hood. For the first time in many years, the world was met with Antonia.

She wore a light blue gown (she’d requested green but had been overruled by the band), and her red hair was down over her shoulders. It felt strange, all of it, her legs touching together without fabric between them, her feet in flimsy shoes instead of boots, her hair lifting in the wind. 

As Antonia rounded the corner, her hand was taken gently by the Lady Marian Fitzwalter, who absorbed her into her retinue and led her off the field.

oOo

Antonia had not been to Fitzwalter Hall in a long span of years. But she’d been on the estate many times, looking after the tenants. In fact, as she followed Marian into the Hall, Antonia noted that a few of the people about seemed to recognize her.

“I should return to Sherwood,” Antonia said.

Marian smiled, and it was a beautiful thing, soft and kind. “You know that no one here will betray you, Robin. And I’m much more concerned for you for the moment. Sherwood is rife with soldiers after the contest.”

Antonia made a dismissive noise, but she allowed herself to be escorted into the foyer. Fitzwalter Hall was nearly as Antonia remembered it, gray stone and old wood, smelling of pine and peppermint and candle wax. As Marian walked by her side, Antonia could remember her as a girl, in her dresses that billowed around her ankles, darting about the chairs. She and Antonia had fought grand battles here with branches for swords, told each other scary tales by the fireplace, and confided secret wishes in the dark of night.

Marian had been beautiful then. Antonia had always thought her so, an angel with blond curls and eyes blue like the open sky. And even in the midst of cold winters, Marian was somehow always soft and warm.

Antonia perched on a cushioned chair, wishing she were able to cross her legs as she could when wearing trousers. She found herself wondering how Marian remembered her. Was it with the same fondness? The same feeling of the world suddenly spinning in the right direction now that they’d been reunited?

Antonia’s gaze fell on a tapestry on the wall. It had fascinated them as a children: rabbits, hounds, swans, and dragons woven amidst a dark forest. A lake teemed with fish, and overhead the sky was full of stars.

“We used to make up stories for it,” Marian said, pointing toward the tapestry. “Do you remember? Quests and magic. It seems somehow fitting that you have found a life of mystery for yourself in the woods.” 

Antonia laughed. “Yes, of course, the life of Robin Hood is naught but one thrilling adventure after another. Tell me, my lady, did you enjoy the contest?”

Marian gave her a look that was partly fond and partly admonishing. “I was terrified the whole time. I must confess I almost wished that you would lose.”

Antonia laughed. “Not a chance of that, angel.”

“I see the years have not improved your hubris,” Marian observed.

“It’s not hubris if it’s true.”

Marian gave a small sigh of exasperation. They passed the afternoon that way, with red wine and reminiscing, Marian’s laughter dancing sweetly through the hall.

But of course, one could not spend too long at peace when life was a series of adventures. Their afternoon was interrupted by a servant rushing in to say that the sheriff was approaching, intent on making a visit. With Fitzwalter Hall on the edge of Sherwood, it was likely Sandalphon wished to ask if anyone had caught sight of Robin Hood after the contest. Without prompting, the servant promised to hold him at bay as long as they could.

Marian took Antonia’s hands in her own. “You should conceal yourself upstairs—”

“I know how to pass from this hall to Sherwood unseen, and my band have left clothes for me here,” Antonia said. “I won’t put you in danger.”

Marian’s face bore a sharp sadness. “Robin, I— I find I want to plead with you to be careful, but I don’t know if the idea bears any sense at all. By definition your life is one of constant peril.”

“You needn’t look so despondent on my account, angel,” Antonia assured her. “This is the path I’ve chosen.”

“It’s just such a strange thing,” Marian said, her eyes a little wet. “To ask you to risk yourself on our behalf, and at the same time to care for you so deeply that the thought of your loss is the most frightening thing I can possibly imagine.”

Antonia hardly knew what to say to that, hardly knew what to do with an angel holding her hands, standing in front of her in all her beauty, gowned in white. But it seemed Marian very much knew what to do, because she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth gently against Antonia’s. It was brief, a good luck kiss, a goodbye kiss, but Antonia needed it to be so much more. She needed to hold Marian, to feel her softness again, to tangle her fingers in her curls and taste the breaths of her mouth.

Marian didn’t resist. As Antonia pulled her close, she closed her eyes, parted her lips, and let Antonia to drink from her, revel in the sweet taste of her, dance their mouths and tongues together. It was one more secret shared between them in this Hall, a confession that their wishes had been for the same thing.

Marian wound her arms around Antonia, slipping her fingers into Antonia’s hair, grazing her skin in a way that made Antonia shiver. Pulling away from Marian seemed more difficult than anything Antonia had faced until now. “Come with me,” she breathed. “Come to Sherwood. The camp is well hidden, angel, no one would ever find us. You’d be safe with me.”

Marian’s eyes were filled with remorse and the confidence of one who counts logic on her side. “Robin, you need me here. I can be your eyes and ears in society. Besides, I can’t just leave. Who would run the estate? I won’t abandon my tenants.”

Antonia made a very unladylike growling noise. “I don’t want you taking such a risk!”

“Well,” said Marian softly, “now you know what that feels like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains two pieces that I took nearly verbatim from [McSpadden (1898)](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/832/832-h/832-h.htm):
> 
> Talking about Robin coming into town:
> 
> _“But Robin is too smart to get within the Sheriff’s clutches again.”  
>  The palmer [Robin Hood in disguise as a Christian pilgrim] crossed himself.  
> “They say that he is a bold fellow,” he whined.  
> “Ha!” said the soldier, “he may be bold enough out behind stumps i’ the forest, but the open market-place is another matter.”_
> 
> It's quite common in the tradition for Robin Hood to have this sort of conversation with unsuspecting people when he is in disguise.  
>   
> And the archery contest:
> 
>   
> _Gilbert now took his stand and slowly shot his arrows, one after another, into the bull’s-eye. ‘Twas the best shooting he had yet done, but there was still the smallest of spaces left—if you looked closely—at the very center.  
>  “Well done, Gilbert!” spoke up Robin Hood. “You are a foeman worthy of being shot against.” He took his own place as he spoke. “Now if you had placed one of your shafts there”—loosing one of his own—“and another there”—out sped the second—“and another there”—the third was launched—“mayhap the King would have declared you the best bowman in all England!"  
> But the last part of his merry speech was drowned in the wild tumult of applause which followed his exploit. His first two shafts had packed themselves into the small space left at the bull’s-eye; while his third had split down between them, taking half of each, and making all three appear from a distance, as one immense arrow._
> 
> I loved this bit so much that I used it instead of the more common ending to the contest where Robin Hood splits someone else’s single arrow.
> 
> The “even if you were Robin Hood, you couldn't beat me” line delivered by some poor sap is a firm part of Robin Hood tradition.


	4. Chapter 4

_Three months later_

It was, as even Antonia had to admit, very useful to have a spy in the upper realms of society. They hadn’t had that before— families of Robin Hood’s band would pass on whatever information they had, but none of them could call the sheriff friend except Marian.

To that end, Marian stood now in her bedroom as a servant, Jane, fussed about with pins, marking the fit of a new gown to wear to a banquet Sheriff Sandalphon was hosting that night. Marian wasn’t terribly excited about attending, but she did love the gown: blue and white with lace of gold.

Antonia was perched on the sill of Marian’s window, one Lincoln green leg dangling down into the two story drop, eating an apple she’d nicked from a tree on the estate. The sun was behind her and its light set her scarlet hair aglow. There were still times when Robin Hood seemed to Marian to be not a man or woman but a creature of magic, a sprite of the forest, a force of life. Talent and courage and undying purpose. When gazing on her, Marian felt bewitched.

Antonia at this moment, however, was occupied with more concrete things. “You could clothe three people with the amount of fabric in that dress,” she observed.

Marian gave a small sigh. “My dear, Robin Hood is hardly known for his sense of fashion.”

“What nonsense!” Antonia exclaimed, indicating her own clothes. “Lincoln green is the height of style in Sherwood.”

Marian laughed. “I suppose that’s true. But the style of this gown is about the way that the skirt drapes when I walk. It’s fluid, like waves of water.”

Antonia gave her a dubious look, but kept her retort to herself this time. “So why is the sheriff planning this affair?” she inquired.

Marian felt her spirit sink. “Well, it’s only rumors at this point. We don’t actually know if—”

Although Marian didn’t finish her sentence, Antonia had noted her change in tone, and she sat up, tossing the apple core out of the window. “What is it, angel?”

“They’re trying to find a way to get rid of you, Robin,” spoke up Jane, as she placed a final pin in the gown. “The Queen is smarting from having to release Robert from the jail after you won the contest. She took it out on Sheriff Sandalphon. So he wants you gone.”

“That’s nothing new,” Antonia scoffed.

“It’s concerning nonetheless,” Marian pointed out.

Antonia didn’t say anything for a moment. Marian went behind a screen and changed into a more suitable dress for a Friday afternoon, this one a pale purple embroidered with blue. When she came out, Antonia’s eyes traveled over her, as they always did, with utmost focus.

Antonia and Marian had hardly resolved their problems, or those of the world in general, but sometimes, in stolen moments, they surrendered to the force of feeling between them. Antonia would pull Marian close and lavish her with kisses. If they had the time, Marian might draw Antonia into her bed, passing an hour in adoration of the bravest, most beautiful person she knew. Or in Sherwood, all alone on a moonlit walk, Antonia would back Marian against a tree and fall to her knees, and then with hands and mouth bring Marian a pleasure she had never felt before in her life. One she was terrified of losing.

Everyone on the Fitzwalter estate had grown used to seeing Robin about, and Marian had practically become a member of Robin Hood’s band in Sherwood. But they were separated more than they were together, and passed many lonely nights apart. Antonia had not ceased to ask Marian to join her permanently in Sherwood, but Marian knew she was needed elsewhere. It wasn’t meant to be personal, but Marian was afraid that Antonia took it quite personally indeed.

“They’ve tried before to get rid of me,” Antonia said gently. “They haven’t succeeded yet.”

Marian was not reassured. She picked up an apple that Antonia had brought for her— stolen from her own estate but presented as a gift. “I’ll see what the sheriff is planning tonight,” she said. “I’m sure you will be the central topic at the banquet.”

Antonia had a wary look on her face. “I know they trust you, but don’t push that too far, angel.”

oOo

Marian had grown used to finding Robin’s camp in the night, so after the banquet, in the hour before dawn, she passed it without difficulty. The sentry for the night glimpsed her a few yards off and waved her close. As she drew closer, Marian recognized Eve clothed in Lincoln green.

“I’m sorry to call so late,” Marian whispered. “But it’s with urgency.”

“Of course,” Eve said as she ushered Marian ahead.

Marian also knew her way to Antonia’s bed— a roll of fabric on the open ground— and she made her way there as quietly as possible. Antonia’s body was warm with sleep, and it was, as always, a great comfort to slip into her embrace. Antonia’s eyes opened about halfway as she beheld her new bedmate. “Mmm,” she said sleepily. “Awfully late for a visit, my lady. Whatever could have drawn you here in the dead of night?”

Marian shivered as Antonia began to press kisses against her neck. “We can’t make love, darling, we need to wake the whole camp.”

“Could make love loud enough to wake the whole camp,” Antonia murmured, and Marian smacked her on the shoulder. Even so, she could not resist spending a few moments in trading soft kisses with Robin Hood in the midst of Sherwood.

But Antonia seemed to have woken more by then. “What did the sheriff say?” she asked.

“It’s bad,” Marian told her.

The woken band gathered around a refreshed fire, draped in blankets. Marian found her attention caught by the dance of flame and shadow projected onto the surrounding trees. Antonia slipped her hand into Marian’s, and she was very glad for it.

“Sheriff Sandalphon has been under a great deal of pressure since Robin won the contest,” Marian began. “Queen Gabrielle has ordered him to find Robin and—” 

Marian couldn’t quite finish it, but Little John lent assistance. “We know,” she said quietly. She was curled together with Much, who had his head on her shoulder.

“Yes, but now I’m afraid there are quite specific plans underway,” Marian said. “The sheriff—” She took a deep breath. “Sandalphon plans to burn this part of Sherwood. To destroy your sanctuary, to make a hell of the forest near Nottingham. Tomorrow at noon. There were only a trusted few at the banquet. Not even his servants know. He doesn’t think you’ll get a warning, Robin, but even now that you have— I’m not sure what there is to do.”

There was quiet for a moment, and then Adam spoke up. “It’s not simply our shelter. It’s countless people’s livelihood, Sherwood. Hunting, fishing, materials for every profession. And there would be immense consequences to nature, even if Sandalphon can stop the whole forest going up, which I am not certain he can.”

“People will die to prevent it,” Antonia said. “Towns could be overrun by flames. It will be a slaughter.” She put an arm around Marian and tugged her close.

“What can we do?” asked Adam.

“I don’t know,” Marian confessed. “I am only certain that the sheriff is the Devil himself.”

“Huh,” said Much, in an interested tone.

“What is it, love?” Little John prodded, when Much yawned rather than continue his thought.

“Oh, well,” Much said, “I was just thinking. You can’t fight the Devil with fire, he’ll always win. That’s why—” another yawn— “people make bargains with him.”

Everyone seemed to sit up a little straighter. 

“What have we to bargain?” Adam asked.

“He wants Robin above all else,” Antonia remarked, but there was quick and loud opposition to that idea.

“That is not an option,” Marian said. “We shall not deliver you to the enemy.”

“Exactly,” said Much, and it seemed he was done yawning by now. “We really ought to have someone handed over to _us_ instead.”

“Would the sheriff bargain for his own life, do you think?” Little John asked.

“Probably,” Antonia mused. “But taking him will be difficult, he’s always surrounded by soldiers.”

“All right,” Little John said. “Then we need to kidnap someone who’s not.”

oOo

Dawn broke quietly over Sherwood, as if the whole place were holding its breath. The forest was like a prisoner in the hell of jail, not knowing whether his execution would be stayed, whether Robin Hood could rescue him in time, and scarcely daring to make a noise in the long and anxious wait, in case it might break the spell of hope.

Antonia took Marian’s hand as they walked the short path between Sherwood and the Fitzwalter estate. The band had made plans through the night. Antonia and Little John had eventually coaxed Marian into Antonia’s bed to catch a little sleep, but even as tired as she was, her sleep had been fitful, and she found more comfort now in being awake and playing her part.

Marian and her staff served breakfast to Robin’s band in the foyer of Fitzwalter Hall as they arranged their defense, but no one had much of an appetite. A message was sent to the sheriff at dawn, with only five hours to go until Sherwood might face the flames. A half hour later, Jane rushed into the hall to warn that Sheriff Sandalphon was on his way, surrounded, of course, with soldiers. 

But Sandalphon entered Fitzwalter Hall alone, as requested. It was so quiet in the Hall that Marian could hear every step he took. When he came into the room, Sandalphon looked angry in a way Marian hadn’t seen before. Last night he’d been excited, seized with a kind of rapture, describing his plans to burn the world to ash with elegant words and grand gestures. Today he paled as he faced the sight of Marian in her own home with her hands bound behind her and tears on her face.

It does bear mentioning, however, that Marian’s hands were bound very loosely, resembling more a length of rope she had woven around herself, and the tears were not for herself but for the plight of Sherwood.

A few of Robin Hood’s band were scattered through the room— Little John, Much, Adam and Eve, a couple of them casually munching on Fitzwalter apples. Robin Hood himself was perched on the large dining table, his legs crossed comfortably. It was not the first time that Marian had seen Antonia sit upon that table, but in the childhood, they’d always had to take care that the adults did not discover this bit of misbehavior. Now Antonia sat on the table in full view of the sheriff of Nottingham, and Marian was extremely proud of her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sheriff Sandalphon demanded.

Antonia glowered at him. “I shall ask you the same, Sheriff. I wager your misdeed is far grander than mine. You plan to eradicate Sherwood Forest. I’ve only threatened one foolish woman.”

Although Marian was playing a part in this ruse, her role was largely to be herself, and so she objected loudly to the insinuation. “Foolish? How do you come to that conclusion, outlaw?”

Antonia gave her a smirk. “My lady, you know as well as anyone that Robin Hood operates on this estate. Tenants here have defected into my company. You nearly border Sherwood Forest to the North. You have jewels and money in Fitzwalter Hall, and yet you set no guard? Anyone could see that this was bound to happen eventually. However—” and here Antonia jumped down from the table— “today the stakes are higher than a few baubles.” Antonia rested a hand on the hilt of the sword that swung at her hip. “Call off the fire, Sandalphon, or the lady shall suffer for it.”

Sandalphon smiled. “I hadn’t intended for you to hear about this plan until it was too late, but I'm afraid you’ve played right into my hands just the same. Capturing you is my only aim in destroying Sherwood. Give yourself up now and the forest will survive.”

Antonia twisted her mouth a little, as if she were thinking hard about that, but Marian recognized it as the wind-up to a speech. Little John caught Marian’s eye and shook her head slightly with exasperation. Marian had been warned that Antonia planned to preach today, probably with an overabundance of alliteration. Antonia did have her quirks. Marian loved her for them.

“One could,” Antonia began, “think of Sherwood as a kingdom. I certainly do. We have our own religion there, the worship of a God that lives and breathes and moves in the leaf-crowded sky. We have our own king! You see him before you. And we have our own laws. They aren’t the cold code of England, a brittle thing that punishes the poor for their own poverty. It is the law of nature, where one takes only what one needs, where a man has the duty of caring for those around him.”

“You show Lady Marian precious little care,” the sheriff spat.

Antonia smirked. “Lady Marian is outside my law. As such, she is subject to all its punishments and none of its protections. Rather like I am with regard to you.”

“So you fancy yourself a king,” Sandalphon said. “But you haven’t the power to stay my hand. This Hall is surrounded by my guard. You are outside your kingdom, _your majesty.”_ And here Sandalphon gave a little mock bow.

Antonia pretended the gesture was genuine and smiled broadly. “Well, if you plan to burn my kingdom, then I must find another, is that not true? You’ll find I’ve started already. The entire Fitzwalter estate belongs to me now. My people have surely overtaken your soldiers by now.”

The sheriff paled and rushed to the window. Outside, the soldiers had indeed been disarmed, by both Robin’s band and Marian’s tenants. 

“I have people on other estates as well,” Antonia remarked casually. “I’ve fed those you left in famine. Seen to the sick, sheltered the shivering. I started moving my kingdom long ago, Sheriff, and that is where you stand now.”

Antonia crossed the room to stand by Marian. She did not draw her weapon, and privately Marian believed Antonia was probably incapable of directly threatening her. What she did instead was to trail a hand across the back of Marian’s chair, sharply from left to right, behind her neck. 

“You will call off the fire,” Antonia said. “And never think of doing such a thing again. Robin Hood is everywhere because his people are everywhere. You’ll never root them all out, and if you try, you shall find yourself wishing you had not made the attempt. My kingdom will stand. You will not destroy it. You cannot.”

The sheriff did not speak with words, but his face told quite the tale nonetheless. The fever that Marian had seen on him the night before returned, but in a sickly way, with his skin flushed and sallow at once, and his hands fluttering in space. 

He turned to Marian, looking defeated. “My lady, I— please forgive me. I should have seen to your safety immediately.” He gestured to Antonia. “You have my word. Sherwood shall stand.”

Marian let out a sob of relief which was not at all a performance. Antonia grinned, and the rest of her band cheered. 

“I am sorry,” Sandalphon said weakly to Marian. “I— fear it’s not safe here for you now. I will see that you have a guard immediately.”

Antonia was in the process of pretending that whatever loose rope held Marian’s hands together needed a great deal of untying, and Marian felt her tense at those words.

“There is no need,” Marian said calmly. “I shan’t be staying on my estate. France is more home to me now than anything. I shall leave my estate in the hands of my few loyal tenants and quit this dreaded place.” 

Freed, Marian left a stunned Antonia standing alone while she clasped Sandalphon’s hand. “But please, keep me updated on what you are doing to combat this vile outlaw. Write me letters. And I shall call on you from time to time.”

Marian cast a look at Antonia, who had paled. “Fitzwalter Hall is no longer my home,” she declared.

Sandalphon was ushered out, along with his guard, to raucous applause. Marian embraced a crestfallen Robin Hood with a laugh, looking up into her golden eyes. “You’ll forgive me, dear,” she said fondly, “I simply don’t want to be outside your kingdom any longer.”

Antonia’s body shivered with relief. “You are not bound for France?”

“The Lady Marian may appear to go to France, and she may come back if needed to pay a call on the Sheriff. Or if I get too heartsick for proper clothing. But it became clear to me last night, in the grief I felt for Sherwood, that I belong there, with you, Robin. Sherwood is vastly preferable to this world of hate and treachery." Marian kissed her gently. "So let it be our kingdom together.”

_In truth, [Marian] would have had little of her lover's company, if she had liked the chaunt of the choristers better than the cry of the hounds: yet I know not; for they [Robin and Marian] were companions from the cradle, and reciprocally fashioned each other to the love of the fern and the foxglove. Had either been less sylvan, the other might have been more saintly; but they will now never hear matins but those of the lark, nor reverence vaulted aisle but that of the greenwood canopy. They are twin plants of the forest, and are identified with its growth._

_ For the slender beech and the sapling oak, _

_ That grow by the shadowy rill, _

_ You may cut down both at a single stroke, _

_ You may cut down which you will. _

_ But this you must know, that as long as they grow _

_ Whatever change may be, _

_ You never can teach either oak or beech _

_ To be aught but a greenwood tree. _

— [Thomas Love Peacock: "Maid Marian," 1822 ](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/966)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of translation for the final quote, if you would like:
> 
> Chaunt of the choristers: A choir singing in church  
> Sylvan: loving the outdoors  
> Matins: church again (morning prayers)  
> Vaulted aisle: yep, church  
> Rill: stream  
> Overall, the passage means that Robin and Marian were destined by their natures to end up in Sherwood together. It’s the Robin Hood version of “we’re on our own side” from Good Omens, and that is why I used it as the title for the fic!
> 
> Burning down Sherwood is not a part of Robin Hood tradition that I’ve seen, probably because it’s frankly ridiculous and could not be pulled off, but it’s in this fic to mirror the apocalypse from Good Omens.

**Author's Note:**

> Other Robin Hood works! Some of these were cited in the fic as well.  
> ["Maid Marian" by Thomas Love Peacock, 1822](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/966)  
> ["The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood" by Howard Pyle, 1883](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/10148/10148-h/10148-h.htm)  
> ["Robin Hood" by J. Walker McSpadden, 1898](https://www.gutenberg.org/files/832/832-h/832-h.htm)  
> ["Robin Hood" by Paul Creswick, 1917](http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28700)  
> The early Robin Hood ballads can be found [here](https://d.lib.rochester.edu/robin-hood/authors) and [here.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Robin_Hood_ballads)
> 
>   
> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are so appreciated! And please feel free to check out my other works. I write Good Omens and original fiction.  
>   
> If you liked this Good Omens human AU, here are my others:  
> [Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22088422) (nurse Aziraphale, florist Crowley)  
> [The Poet's Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458608) (poet Aziraphale, firefighter Crowley)  
> [The Wrong Side of the Door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048544) (a spooky AU with Aziraphale and Crowley as paranormal investigators)  
> [The Pocket Watch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645601) (jeweler Aziraphale, jewel thief Crowley)  
> and [Warmth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28988571) (librarian Aziraphale, criminal Crowley)  
> And on my Tumblr, you can find [giant lists of other writers' completed Good Omens human AUs](https://holycatsandrabbits.tumblr.com/search/Dannye's%20GO%20Human%20AU%20rec%20lists)
> 
> Find me at [DannyeChase.com](http://dannyechase.com/)  
> and on my [Linktree](https://linktr.ee/DannyeChase)  
> 


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